Authors: Unknown
Laura stood for a second at his desk, somehow loath to enter the gloomy office next door. It was not an inviting atmosphere in which to work. It would be much more pleasant sitting here, the warmth of the late autumn sunshine filling the room.
Outside a gardener was at work belatedly pulling up faded summer blooms in readiness for the spring bulbs. She would have dearly loved to spend the morning exploring the vast grounds. It was unusually warm and still. Birds chattered noisily in the nearby woods and the mountains of Wales struggled for supremacy through the distant mist.
Sighing deeply, Laura crossed to her office. If she wanted to make any headway before Brad Stuart returned she had better start.
Switching on the light, she ruefully surveyed the confusion of papers covering the desk, the overflowing waste-paper basket and the enormous pile that had fallen out of the filing-cupboard. Before she could get anything done it would be necessary to tidy up. It would be hopeless to try and work amongst such disorder.
The papers on the floor she pushed back into the cupboard—they could be sorted out and filed properly when she had time. The work on the desk appeared to be an assortment of unanswered letters and half-typed articles. Laura put them into a folder, intending to tackle Mr. Stuart about them later. How he made a success of his writing with such disorganisation she couldn’t imagine, yet he must be wealthy to own such a magnificent estate.
Next she found her way to the kitchen. Gleaming copper pans hung on the timber-clad walls. There was nothing old-fashioned in here. Everything was laid out for Mrs. Jennings’ convenience and Laura looked admiringly round before asking for polish and dusters.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m responsible for the state of the office,’ said Mrs. Jennings in concern, ‘but Mr. Stuart point blank refused to let me in. Said he didn’t want anything disturbed. He knew exactly where to find things as they were.’
Laura smiled. ‘He’ll be in for a shock if he wants anything now. I’ve put it all away. There’s hardly room to swing a cat as it is. What made him choose a poky little hole like that to push his secretary into?’
‘At one time he had her working with him.’ Mrs. Jennings paused from rolling out pastry. ‘But then he said the noise of the typewriter disturbed him so he had part of his study partitioned off. That’s why there’s only that tiny window. I don’t suppose he thought of the poor girl’s comfort so long as he wasn’t disturbed. He’s like a bear with a sore head if he’s interrupted in the middle of a piece of work.’
‘Didn’t any of them ever complain?' asked Laura, silently agreeing with the housekeeper’s philosophy. It tied in so completely with her own earlier views.
‘Far from it. They all fell for his fatal charm. As far as I know he’s a confirmed bachelor, but his typists have been so bewitched that I’m sure they would have worked in the attic if he asked them.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘When they realised it was no use they left—if he didn’t sack them beforehand. I’ve seen it happen so many times—but I knew as soon as I saw you that you were different. This one won’t put up with his domineering manner, I said to myself. She won’t be afraid to speak her mind. And I’m right, aren’t I?'
Laura laughed and nodded. She liked Mrs. Jennings and appreciated her forthright manner.
‘You’ve got to stick up to him, Miss Templeton. He thinks more of you if you do. Ii I think I’m wronged I soon tell him, although I’m always careful to remember he’s my boss. Jobs aren’t easy to come by at my age.’
Laura placed her arm round the older woman’s shoulders. ‘You’re a treasure, Mrs. Jennings, and I’m sure Mr. Stuart knows it. I must go now or he’ll be back before I’ve started.’
At the door she turned. ‘Mrs. Jennings—I’ll have my lunch in here, if you like. I feel guilty about you having to lay a table just for me. Unless Mr. Stuart will be back?’
‘No, miss. Said he was lunching out. As a matter of nose at the thought of eating in the kitchen with the fact it will be nice to have a bit of company, if you’re sure you don’t mind. Most people would turn up their housekeeper.'
With a warm smile Laura said, ‘I shall look forward to it. What time will lunch be ready?’
‘About one. I’ll give you a call. Now off with you or there’ll be nothing to eat at all.'
Laura soon had the office clean and tidy ready to begin the re-typing of her employer’s book, but again she was held up. The keys of the typewriter needed cleaning and oiling. Laura searched in vain for oil and brushes, becoming more and more angry as the morning wore on. How did he expect her to turn out a decent page of typing on such a relic? It was a pity he couldn't type himself, then he would realise how much energy was used pounding away on the stiff old keys.
David had supplied her with an electric typewriter and her fingers had almost flown over the keys, each page being neatly and accurately presented. She took pride in her work, but it was impossible on this machine to type evenly when half the keys were out of alignment and the whole thing wanted overhauling. Or better still, said Laura to herself, throwing on to the scrap heap.
When Mrs. Jennings tapped on the door Laura had only typed the first half dozen pages, but even so felt exhausted and was glad of the respite.
‘I’m fighting mad,' she said when they were seated at the huge wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. ‘How does he expect me to use that heap of scrap metal ? It’s virtually, impossible!’
'I've often wondered myself why Mr. Stuart kept that old machine,' said Mrs. Jennings. ‘It isn’t as though he couldn’t afford a new one. He found it in the attic when he moved in. I think that’s what gave him the idea of a secretary. He’d always sent his work away to be typed before.’
‘And a better job they made of it, I’m sure,' replied Laura. ‘But let’s forget work for a while. It’s a sore point. Tell me about Helen. Why doesn’t she leave her room?’
‘I’m not sure whether I ought to say, miss. Mr. Stuart doesn’t like to talk about her. It’s her legs, you see. She can’t get about like she used to.’
Poor dear, thought Laura sympathetically, as she ate a mouthful of steak pie. ‘Why doesn’t he let her have a room down here? It would be better or you as well as her.’
‘I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind. Miss Helen’s a forbidden subject in this household. I feel sorry for Mr. Stuart being burdened with her as he is, but that’s as much as I’m going to say. How’s the pie?’
‘Delicious, thank you.’ Laura could not understand the secrecy surrounding her employer’s sister. It seemed that the woman was in need of company, not someone to be shut away upstairs. Perhaps if she asked Mr. Stuart he would let her see Helen. It was a shame for her to be alone.
Laura ate her last piece of potato. ‘That was lovely, Mrs. Jennings. Do you do all the work in this house? Surely there’s too much for one?’
‘We have a daily, but I prefer to look after Mr. Stuart myself, and of course I’ll do your room now—then I know it’s been done properly. Most women are out for a bit of easy money these days and conveniently forget the comers. Peaches and cream?’
‘No, thank you, just coffee. I won’t feel like working if I eat too much.'
Halfway through the afternoon Brad Stuart returned. Laura heard him moving about in his study before he came to see how she was getting on.
Silently he stood at her desk scanning the pages. He took so long that Laura wondered whether she had done anything wrong.
At length he handed the papers back. ‘They’re fine, thank you, but I see you’ve only just started chapter two. I must have the first three chapters today. My publishers are breathing down my neck. I really thought that a woman of your experience would have rattled off three chapters by now with no trouble at all.’
His sarcasm was not lost on Laura and her voice was as cold as his. She was not going to take the blame for something that was not her fault. ‘Mr. Stuart, you may not remember what a shambles this office was in, or care that it’s hopeless to try and hurry on this—this museum piece.’
‘Your typing looks all right to me, Miss Templeton. I can’t see why you’re complaining.’ The steely grey eyes looked at her steadily.
‘That’s because I’m a good typist. Anyone with less experience would find it impossible to use. Even so, it’s jolly hard work.'
He frowned briefly. ‘I’ve never had a complaint before
.'
‘Perhaps if you had you might have done something about it.’ It was impossible to control her temper when he spoke in such superior tones.
He gave her a last condemning look, choosing to ignore her statement, and strode from the room, saying over his shoulder, ‘Leave the chapters on my desk when you’ve finished
.'
For several minutes Laura sat still. He really was the most disagreeable person she had ever met! He might be her boss, but at least he could have a little consideration. It would take her hours to type two more chapters, and it wasn’t as though the work was straightforward. There were so many alterations it was difficult to make out some of the words.
She was still brooding when Mrs. Jennings brought her a cup of tea and a biscuit. ‘Never mind, love. Remember what I told you—he doesn’t mean half what he says. In fact—I don’t know whether I ought to tell you this, but it might cheer you up—he just told me that he’s relieved to have found someone who can type properly. That, coming from the master, is praise indeed. So don’t worry if he gets on to you. It’s just his way
.'
Cheered by Mrs. Jennings
'
words, but surprised that he should have discussed her with his housekeeper, Laura inserted a fresh piece of paper into her machine and started typing with more enthusiasm than she had previously felt. It was something that he appreciated her typing, although it would have been better to hear it from his own lips rather than second hand. She somehow suspected that he begrudged paying compliments, probably erecting this aggressive barrier to prevent her from following the path of her predecessors. He needn't worry, she liked her men with a little more respect for a woman.
It was late evening before she finished, and her arms and shoulders ached as though she had done a hard day’s manual labour. Satisfied that the work had been done as neatly and accurately as circumstances permitted, Laura placed the pages on Brad’s desk, allowing her eyes once more to take in the luxury of his room, her annoyance renewed at the inadequacy of her own quarters.
Wearily she closed the door. All she wanted now was a hot bath and the comfort of her bed. If Brad Stuart was going to work her this hard all the time she would earn every penny of the salary he was paying. It suddenly did not seem such a generous amount after all.
The next morning brad was waiting when she entered his study, a sheaf of papers in his hand, a frown darkening his face. 'I'm afraid you’ve missed out a page, Miss Templeton. You’ll have to re-type the last half of this chapter.’
Laura looked and found to her consternation that he was right, but it would be a simple matter to type out the page without re-doing the whole chapter.
'I'm sorry, I can’t imagine how I missed it. But it won’t be necessary to do it again. I can easily insert the missing page.'
'I prefer it re-typed,' he said determinedly, ‘and you’ll notice I’ve made one or two alterations—not your fault, but I think it sounds better.'
Furious, while maintaining an outward calm, Laura took the sheets into her office, spending half the morning angrily re-typing.
Her annoyance had spent itself when she took the work back and she stood quietly by his desk as he quickly read it through.
‘Yes, that’s better,' he said at last. ‘By the way, I’ve been looking for a letter from the
Weekly Review
. Apparently they wrote last month asking me to do an article on the wildebeeste as a follow-up to a recent television programme. I can’t find it anywhere. You haven’t seen it?’
It could be on her desk, thought Laura, but she had pushed all the letters together without looking to see who they were from. ‘There’s a whole pile of unanswered letters in my office. Perhaps it’s amongst those.’
‘You’d better bring them in, I don’t know what they’re doing there if they haven’t been answered. Bring your pad as well. We’ll go through them.’
When all the mail was signed and sealed Brad called Laura into his study, inviting her to sit down. His chin resting on the tips of his fingers he looked keenly at her for a long minute before speaking.
His words when he did speak took Laura very much by surprise.
‘I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you arrived. You’ve proved that you’re every bit as efficient as David said, despite the—er—inadequacy of your office.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Stuart,’ said Laura, feeling an unexpected warmth at his praise, but wondering whether he was merely buttering her up for something else.
Abruptly he stood up. ‘Come with me. I want your opinion.’
Surprised, Laura followed. He led her into the room next to his study. It was comfortably furnished with deep armchairs and a chaise-longue in faded green velvet.
‘Would this suit you?’ His voice was brusque and businesslike.'
'I'm sorry—I don’t understand.'
‘For your office. I could have this stuff moved out and a door put in here between the two rooms. What do you think?’
Laura could hardly believe him. It would be marvellous. It commanded the same breathtaking view as his own room and it was light and spacious. It would be a pleasure to work there. If she needed any incentive to stay, this was it. It would make up for all Brad Stuart’s bad moods.
‘It would be very nice, but—don’t you use it?'
‘Occasionally, if we have visitors. But that's very rare these days since my—' For a brief space his eyes shadowed. When he spoke again his voice was brisk. ‘I’ll call a man in tomorrow and you can move as soon as it’s ready.’
Laura's thoughts were on Brad’s unfinished sentence and she hardly heard his last words. What had he been going to say? Something about himself—or his sister? This latter seemed the most likely and Laura wondered if now was the time to question him or whether she should wait until she had settled in properly.